


Ylang Ylang

by adaosix



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, High School, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27368536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaosix/pseuds/adaosix
Summary: Nothing ever stays, is what he's only learned at such a dreadfully young age. It seems that everything is a blur for Yukhei, and days just come and go, sometimes a little bit too fast. As sad as it may be, it has become a norm for him now, as natural as breathing.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Mark Lee/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Kudos: 11





	Ylang Ylang

**Author's Note:**

> Ylang Ylang
> 
> I'd like to think this is a sequel to [Keeper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16207256)  
> (If you want to read Keeper, please be warned that there is necrophilia in that story).
> 
> There will be an eventual change in tone and sentence structure. also FUCK im hungry

Yukhei thinks no moment in his life is ever important.

Yukhei has never had anything ultimately his. His clothes, shoes, all old and fragile – mostly hand-me-downs from his brother, and probably from his mother’s friend’s sons. They aren’t his. It’s not the same.

But there’s this desire within him from watching his friends, with their own family, having fun, owning toys, shoes, and pets, and Yukhei just _yearns_ for that. But his family can’t afford anything at all.

Which is why one day walking home from school, when he sees a dying kitten on the side of the road; abandoned, frail, and almost motionless, Yukhei picks it up without hesitation, almost crushing its tiny body with his own tiny hands out of excitement.

Picking up a small box by the garbage bin by the light post on the way home, Yukhei eagerly positions the small animal inside. It’s weak meowing strangely a music to his ears.

Once arrived home, he places the box by the back door to their house, just below the side of the steps. Strangely though, the kitten refuses to eat. Yukhei doesn’t know why and he doesn’t have anyone to ask. Frustration wells up inside him, and he tries to force down small portions of rice inside the kitten’s mouth, hoping it just needed to be guided, but to no avail. It just lies there, body almost to the bone.

The kitten only dies the next day. 

When things don’t go well, Yukhei tends to cry.

“Just like your father. Weak.” His mother would tell him. “Even over the smallest of things he’d let his feelings get the best of him.

“A sore heart,” she would say in a condescending tone. “Just toughen up.”

Because of that, Yukhei tries so much to suppress any signs of unwanted emotion, of wanting, of _yearning_ , in hopes of proving his mother otherwise, but they keep gushing out, like waters flowing out a broken dam. Heavy. All too much at once.

His mother, old and stern, thinks much of everything as a chore, even of her children.

His brother, 12 years older than him, is almost always never home.

While Yukhei thinks he understands why their house doesn’t feel like much of a home and why they don’t have much, as much as a nine-year old can comprehend, it doesn’t deter his hopes of having to know what it feels like to be complete.

Yukhei doesn’t think he’s asking for too much.

But there’s never been room to complain as much as he wants to. He’s learned nothing good ever comes out of it, learned to accept things as they are, and so stays silent.

He tries to stay in his room all the time. There isn’t so much of anything inside—a couple of second-hand toys, old and broken, worn out books he’s read more than he can count, a study table, and a small cabinet with his clothes, mostly also from his brother when he was his age.

In their household completely devoid of love, there’s not that much for Yukhei to hold on to.

As much as he wants to talk to his mother about things that happened in class that he thinks is interesting, he can’t. He’s tried before, countless of times, but Yukhei argues with himself whether to continue or not when his mother has done nothing but mindlessly nod.

She’s probably just tired, Yukhei keeps telling himself. Working hour after hour at the supermarket, earning less than what should be earned, coming home late almost every night. She makes Yukhei worry. But he understands. He knows how they’re not as put together as other families; like how Xiao Jun’s family always hang out together during Sundays and eat at expensive restaurants merely just for fun.

But they’re not like that, no matter how much he wants it to happen. Yukhei’s family eat their meals separately, a routine that started even before the death of his father three years ago. While Yukhei has stopped voicing his complains a while back, and he’s always been forced to accept how things in their household were, he absolutely hates eating alone. It’s when he feels empty the most, and it makes him lose his appetite.

Because of that, Yukhei basks in the comfort of eating with his friends in school. It’s better as than eating on their small dining table at home.

In school, it’s fun and warm.

Donghyuck would always share his lunch with him because all he ever eats is a sandwich, pressed too flat, which sometimes is too soggy to even hold upright.

The first time Donghyuck offered to share his lunch with him was a week after third grade started.

“Isn’t a small, flat peanut butter sandwich not enough for a tall kid like you? You know, you’re too tall for our age.” Yukhei remembers Donghyuck asking in amusement.

He remembers nervously declining the offer, too embarrassed to admit the truth. But Donghyuck was persistent and assured him it was okay. “Mom packs too much for me anyway. She’s on to this goal to make me less lanky, which I’m not. You know who’s lanky? You. Here, eat this.”

Yukhei, while loud and boisterous in school, rarely talks much about himself. In their house he’s stopped trying ever since he realized no one ever listens to him, about his day, about what happened in school. Sometimes he’d try and tell about what happened in school, but his mother would only nod, not a spare of glance, disinterest plastered across her face.

But Donghyuck is different. Donghyuck listens, and he listens attentively. Of course, both have other friends, but Yukhei thinks Donghyuck is special. Donghyuck makes Yukhei feel appreciated, something he’s always longed for. A few weeks after their first meeting and Yukhei has already grown remarkably close to him, always there wherever his friend is.

Even though it’s a known fact in their classroom that Donghyuck mostly causes unnecessary fights with the other students during class and even in recess, he never says anything about Yukhei, even if Yukhei himself thinks he’s being annoying sometimes.

Yukhei asks Donghyuck about it one day, the fear of losing his friend pushing him on.

“It’s because we’re friends,” Donghyuck answers nonchalantly without facing him. They’re both writing notes for Math at the moment, and Yukhei’s made it a chance to ask. “You can be annoying sometimes but aren’t I annoying too?” Donghyuck continues, finally facing him. Yukhei sighs a relief at that. “Youngho-hyung tells me so, that I'm annoying, every single time we meet! But it’s fine. And isn’t it a nine-year-old’s job to be annoying?”

 _Youngho-yung._ There it is again.

Donghyuck’s older brother.

Yukhei has always noticed that Donghyuck keeps on mentioning his brother during their conversations every now and then. He doesn’t mind, it’s fun listening to Donghyuck’s rambling. But it’s an obvious lie to say that Yukhei isn’t jealous.

“Oh, his school is out of town, so he’s never always home. But he visits us whenever he has time though.”

“He’s _really_ tall! You’re tall, right, Xuxi? Well, he’s tall _er._ ”

“Younho-hyung played basketball before. He stopped after high school though.”

“Huh? Kids our age don’t have to know what course our older siblings are taking. But I think it was about designing buildings and stuff like that. Although I’m not quite sure. Might have been about science. I can ask him if you want?”

“Xuxi, what’s your brother like?”

Yukhei feels jealous. He doesn’t know his own brother at all.

On Donghyuck’s tenth birthday, Yukhei finally meets Youngho.

Youngho _is_ tall.

He watches from the couch as Donghyuck runs up to the doorway where his brother is standing, arms open wide, ready for his little brother’s impact. “Hyung!” Donghyuck shouts, rather too enthusiastically.

Donghyuck had invited seven of his friends, including Xiao Jun, Yang Yang, Kun and him. His relatives are there, too, and Yukhei has never seen such closeness from a family up close, where he can almost feel the warmth. It leaves a tinge of pain in his heart.

After that, Yukhei and his other friends stay in Donghyuck’s room, playing with the few toys he has, until it’s time to go down. They sing Donghyuck a happy birthday, eat, and play games.

When the celebration ends, Yukhei’s friends insist that he stays for a while to play with Donghyuck’s new toys, but it’s getting dark, and it’s a Sunday. During Sundays, Donghyuck’s mother is usually home by 5. He worries his mother might worry, which doesn’t seem so possible at all, but sometimes Yukhei hopes.

Yukhei walks back home alone at 5:30 in the afternoon.

He takes his time; short strides, slow pace, the orange sky keeping him company.

The gate to their house screeches as he opens it. He sees his mother outside of their porch, brushing the dust off the corners of the steps with an old broom.

“ _Mom--_ "

Yukhei tries to say, walking to her and wanting to help, but is cut off when her mother, under her breath, mutters, “Your brother’s inside.”

Yukhei’s thoughts suddenly projects to the second week of third grade, when he’d mentioned about his own brother to Donghyuck, only because Donghyuck had mentioned about how it was nice to have an older brother close to you, _“You have a brother, Xuxi?! Why didn’t you tell me! What’s his name?”_

He remembers muttering his brother’s name, and how there was an evident lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

“Jungwoo.”

Jungwoo is everything Youngho isn’t. Whenever Yukhei thinks about it, which is unfortunately a little too often, frustration wells up inside him. Yukhei knows more about his friend’s brother than his own, and he doesn’t really know what to make of it. It just seems ugly. The thought of it, visually, is a dark smoke hovering in front of him and nothing else, and it leaves him confused.

Maybe, they’re just too far apart in age, maybe Jungwoo doesn’t want to talk to a nine-year old kid. But then he thinks about Donghyuck and his brother, who’s turning twenty-one on March, and suddenly everything is a jumble again.

He just wants to talk to him from time to time, is all.

To start, there isn’t really anything that keeps both of them together anyway.

Everything inside their house feels heavy. The darkness, the silence, everything about it screams of anything but warmth. As far as Yukhei can remember, Jungwoo’s always out of the house, out with people he doesn’t know, to God knows where.

Yukhei isn’t surprised to see their small living room empty when he opens the screen door. Whenever Jungwoo steps inside their house, he keeps his own doors closed. Nothing ever really changes whether Jungwoo comes home or not, but Yukhei likes to think everything is okay, that at least everyone is safe today, sleeping in their own rooms under the same roof.

That night, for the first time ever, he hears voices outside of his bedroom. But it’s the kind that makes his heart churn. It’s his mother’s screaming, and although muffled by the door, he feels everything on the other side.

It’s almost like Yukhei doesn’t _care_ if they’re fighting outside. There’s a thought on a pedestal in his mind and all it is is the want to be noticed by his mom and brother. Jungwoo’s voice overpowers their mother’s, and Yukhei wants to come out the door, talk, help, shout with them even, but his body refuses to move, and then he hears a door slam. Everything is silent again. Yukhei feels like crying.

Nothing really changes after that.

The next morning, Jungwoo is gone again.

Yukhei goes to school, meets and talks with his friends, and walks back to an empty house as always.

Yukhei is twelve when Donghyuck transfers to another school.

On that day, same as any other, Yukhei and his friends walk home together from school.

It’s almost a 15-minute walk to Yukhei’s house but talking with everyone while doing so makes the walk fun. Xiao Jun and Kun simultaneously arrive at their own houses on the way because they’re houses are close, and a few intersections later Yang Yang strides to a different street, leaving only Yukhei and Donghyuck. They live a few more blocks away, Donghyuck having the farther house.

When Yukhei’s house come into view, he feels a sudden weight in his heart and suddenly he doesn’t want the walk to end just yet.

But the walk does end, and just like any other day, they arrive at Yukhei’s house first, and Donghyuck is the last to walk home.

“Bye-bye, Xuxi!” Donghyuck shouts, all smiles, before running off with his backpack bouncing along with every step. Yukhei stays by their gate for a bit and waits for Donghyuck to turn the next corner of the street before going inside.

The day after Donghyuck leaves with his family, while Xiao Jun and Kun are still on the same table in the canteen eating with Yukhei, he feels lonely.

Yukhei doesn’t cry. But there’s this foreign silence from time to time and it makes him feel this familiar ache in his heart.

On the day of Yukhei’s elementary graduation, his teacher is the one who walks with him to the stage. His mother does come, although ten minutes a little too late. Yukhei tries to feel happy, because at the very least his mother is there, despite being so busy in the town market.

During the walk home, Yukhei’s mother apologizes for being late. When they reach their house, Yukhei feels a little better.

Jungwoo comes home again a month after, looking thinner, lankier, and weaker than he was before. The night he arrives, Yukhei hears the familiar shouting from outside his bedroom door. Strangely enough, the next morning, Jungwoo doesn't leave immediately, but leaves, nonetheless, albeit a week later than usual.

Nothing ever stays, is what he's only learned at such a dreadfully young age. It seems that everything is a blur for Yukhei, and days just come and go, sometimes a little bit too fast but it's become a norm for him now, as natural as breathing. 

But Yukhei is fifteen when he meets Mark, and everything else in the world stops.

**Author's Note:**

> While you're at it make sure to read my other stories too!  
> Comments are appreciated.  
> Link to: [Keeper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16207256)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/hyucksix) ♧


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